


Space Divas

by cinni_spacedust



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types, Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Asari Characters, Canon Compliant, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, F/M, Feels, Female Friendship, Frenemies, Friendship, Gen, Illium (Mass Effect), Makeover, Mass Effect 2, Normandy-SR2, Relationship(s), Romance, Short & Sweet, Turians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-12-25 17:24:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18265973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinni_spacedust/pseuds/cinni_spacedust
Summary: Drunken Normandy shenanigans, girl talk, spa days and rooftop date nights - oh my!Miranda, Fem Shep and Thane POVs.





	1. The Normandy (Some Unholy Hour)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miranda and Shepard put their differences aside for an evening and enjoy talking trash over a few wines.

Miranda had been putting off this mission report all day.

Shepard’s messy Omega misadventures weren't the sort to be tailored into a tidy little narrative with a feel-good ending. She wasn't looking forward to penning the part about the Ardat Yakshi.

No doubt the dodgy mission would have her, not Shepard, on the receiving end of the Illusive Man's wrath. Sending 'bloody icon Commander Shepard' unarmed to act as bait for a murderous asari might not have been her idea, but the responsibility ultimately fell upon her shoulders. 

Sure, Shepard had pulled it off. She always pulled it off. That’s why they’d poured unfathomable resources into dragging her ass back from the dead.

_Would Cerberus have done the same for one of their own? For me?_

She let the thought come and go swiftly.

Armed with a datapad and an unapologetically-tall glass of white, she chugged a deep gulp, shuddered at the acidity, and headed up her document.

 

**Omega  
Commander Shepard (undercover) neutralises notorious serial murderer**

**qwertyuiop;lkjhgfdsazxcvbnm,!!!!**

 

Her train of thought ends with a petty mash of keys.

With a weak groan, she kicked off her heels and sank deeper into her chair. The cold floor felt like heaven against the puffy soles of her feet.

‘EDI, check for new emails please,’ she called in no particular direction, eager for distraction. 

EDI illuminated the room as she came online, ‘You have one new message from the commander. Shepard writes: “Got a minute or two? I’d appreciate your help with something. I’ll explain when you get here. I’m in my room. Thanks, Shepard.” End of message.’

Miranda sat in a moment of quiet confusion, ‘EDI could you read that back again? Just the message.’

Upon the email’s second reading, it was evidently still a request for her presence upstairs.

In Shepard’s room.

She hadn't visited the Normandy's master suite since she'd signed-off on her initial inspection of the ship's interior. Precious few had received invitations to the commander's quarters. She'd held the occasional private meetings with her old guard crew members. Nothing more. 

She downed another bitter gulp of wine, slipped her heels back on and swept her datapad under her arm. 

‘Please reply “on my way” and call the lift for me.' 

The elevator doors closed and she instinctively hit record on her omni-tool. The Illusive Man wanted every word she and the commander exchanged to be recorded. To him, Shepard was just a big pile of credits running around the galaxy; it made sense to have 24-7 eyes and ears on his most expensive investment.

But Shepard had already tracked down and discretely destroyed every recording device that Cerberus had planted in her room. For now, the omni-tool would just have to do.

She approached Shepard’s cabin and drew a shallow breath.

‘It’s Miranda,’ she announced into the door’s receiver.

Shepard didn't bother replying. Miranda jumped a little as the door swooshed open.

‘Hey Lawson,’ came Shepard’s voice from somewhere within the suite.

She sounded tired. Croaky, even.

Miranda took a few tentative steps inside and stopped. Her mouth fell open at the state of it.

_Strewth._

Shepard had arranged and perfectly-aligned matching sets of clothing across every available surface of her room. The commander's recreation-wear and uniform pieces were folded neatly beside each other along her bed, coffee table and sofa. Save a few sets of armour, this must have been every garment in the commander's wardrobe. 

Even her shoes had been paired neatly along the edge of the bed. It was meticulous and mad.

Shepard herself stood dripping wet and red-faced beside her bed. She had clearly just stepped out of the shower. Her body was wrapped securely in a Cerberus-branded towel, and her hair had been stuffed into a tight bun, save a few renegade tendrils that hugged her forehead.

Miranda cleared her throat, ‘What can I do for you?’

The commander opened her mouth to speak and hesitated, ‘Are there any more of your bugs in this room, or have I dealt with them all?’

Her nostrils flared and she felt her ears prickle, ‘Nope. You got them all.’

‘Good. I sleep easier when I know that you aren’t listening to me sleep-talk.’

‘I was just doing my job, Shepard.’

The commander narrowed her eyes, ‘I wouldn’t be stupid enough to screw over Cerberus in their own spacecraft.’

Silence. Long and uncomfortable. Miranda shifted her weight from one heel to the other.

‘I'd forgotten how big this room was,’ she chimed, willing the conversation to change direction.

She lifted her eyes to the roof, anticipating that superb skylight window that the ship's designer had featured above the bed. To her surprise, the window was closed. Obscured completely. 

Shepard followed her line of sight and offered an explanation, ‘I can’t sleep with it open, especially when we’re flying. I woke up a few times and thought I was falling again.’

She trailed off, wincing at some painful memory. Miranda could guess which one. 

There were, however, reports waiting to be written.

‘You said you needed my help?’

The towel-bound commander traced her chin and sighed, ‘Yeah. Yes. I need a favour. It’s a stupid favour, and I didn’t know who else to ask.’

Miranda glanced around the room again, ‘Is something missing from your inventory? I can order replacements-’

‘No, no, everything is here. It’s fine.’

More silence. 

She rested her palms upon a pair of pressed trousers and continued, ‘I wondered if you might be able to help me figure out...all  _this_.’

‘You mean...clothes?’

Shepard exhaled sharply through her teeth and nodded once, ‘Yeah. I do.’

‘Are we picking out an outfit, here? Is that what this is?’

Seeing Shepard this vulnerable was both surreal and strangely satisfying. In that moment, Miranda decided it would be morally cruel to continue recording their conversation, so she flicked on her omni-tool and ended her recording.

_Illusive man be damned._

She might not have had the luxury of enjoying girl talk with Oriana, but she'd certainly give it her best go with Shepard.

She cast her datapad on the sofa and surveyed the sea of garments.

‘Right. What’s the occasion?’

 

 

* * *

 

 

It took two hours and a few generous glasses of wine to get Shepard talking. 

Really talking.

Miranda was at the semi-drunk stage where she had started rubbing her eyes and could feel clumps of mascara spreading across her cheeks.

'Girl talk' had kicked off with a frustrated Shepard ranting as she paced around the perfectly-placed clothes, all of which had since ended up piled on the floor. The commander's complaints were surprisingly plentiful, centred mostly around the fact that she was sick of wearing uniforms. Miranda wondered what other unspoken complaints lurked behind that freckled frown; would a few more glasses of wine have her spilling secrets as freely as she shed the blood of her enemies? 

Shepard wrapped up a point about outfits with logos. Miranda realised she hadn't quite been listening. 

So she improvised. 

‘But I thought you liked your N7 logo?’ she whined, her accent strengthening as she dove deeper into her wine bottle. ‘I got 'N7' printed on bloody everything for you! It's your _thing_ , isn't it?’

‘Oh, sure,' Shepard said, casting a pair of socks across the room into a growing pile of garments. ‘N7 means a lot to me. But it's still a job, and I'm sick and tired of wearing my jobs. I want to chat to crew members and walk around in public without looking like I'm constantly on duty. I want to dress like _me_. Is that too much to ask?'

And so it went on. 

Miranda would inspect the stem of her wine glass and offer the occasional comment. Shepard continued to vent her frustrations.

After a while, she started noticing patterns in the commander's complaints. Thane was consistently mentioned as an example of someone who dressed well; who dressed to ‘say something about his personality’. Shepard caught herself doing this a few too many times and started using other crew members to emphasise her point thereafter. 

‘So what kind of outfits do you need?’ Miranda asked. ‘Give me examples to work with?’

Shepard rubbed her forehead and hummed. 

‘Alright,’ she began. ‘Say, for example, that club on Omega we went to yesterday-’

‘Pisshole!’ Miranda declared, lifting her wine glass for emphasis.

‘No, I think it was Afterlife.’

‘I know. I meant  _Omega_.’

Shepard made a messy noise; a mixture of laughter and snorting, ‘Alright, shut up. What was I saying? Oh yeah. I go to this club for...Samara. I'm dancing and punching people and seducing the mythical asari sex demon,' she paused to catch her breath ‘-dressed in yellow and black activewear like I’m sponsored by a Cerberus soccer team!’

‘Well, you kind of are our-’

‘Don’t even think about it, Lawson.’ 

She'd anticipated the comment.

‘You could have borrowed something from me?’ Miranda offered, as though it were obvious.

‘My ass I could! I can’t fit your clothes! They look as though they've been painted on you!’

‘Rack off, Shepard.’ 

Eventually, the commander progressed from sassy drunk to emotional drunk. 

She started to prattle on about the party that she'd crashed with Kasumi. Borrowing a dress, shoes and jewellery in order to meet the minimum dress code requirements had been especially shameful, apparently. 

‘I remember the dress,’ Miranda interjected. ‘It gave you legs for days, and your boobs looked great.’

‘That means a lot, coming from a woman with a genetically-perfect rack.’

They clinked wine glasses. Then Miranda started connecting dots.

‘That party was weeks ago. Why are you suddenly all worried about what to wear? I thought you didn’t like to wear anything that rendered you incapable of running and roundhouse kicking?’

Again, there was silence. Shepard squirmed with discomfort. 

‘It’s Thane, isn’t it.’

Shepard avoided her eyes and concentrated on steadying her hand as she refilled her glass.

Miranda clumsily swilled the dregs of her own and revelled in her victory.

‘Of _course_  it’s Thane,’ she drawled. ‘You’ve been stopping by his room for chats every night this week. I should have known.’

Shepard huddled over her glass as though it were a small campfire feeding her life-giving warmth. Her air-dried locks, now released from the post-shower bun, had formed frizzy curtains around her face.

‘I mean, he’s not  _my_ cup of tea. But, I get it. He’s a spunky bloke, that Thane,’ Miranda admitted, and she meant it. 

She leaned back on Shepard's sofa and sighed, ‘I remember writing his dossier. It felt like writing a profile for one of those extranet dating sites. “Tall, dark and handsome. Broody. Widower. Assassin. Thighs to die for.” I’d have attached more pictures if I’d known you’d be keen.’

Shepard broke her silence, ‘It’s just...who _bows_ anymore, Miranda? Who bows when they leave a room?’

‘Ha! I knew it.’

‘He called me _siha._ ’

Shepard sighed the word as if it were a lover's promise.

Miranda set down her glass. A terrible smile spread across her mascara-smeared face.

‘EDI,’ she drunkenly called to the roof. ‘Start an email to Thane from Shepard. Title it “Just got out of the shower” and add a wink-’

Shepard launched at Miranda and screamed at EDI to belay that.  

‘Shepard, Miranda,’ EDI greeted them. ‘Thane is currently online. Would you like me to place a call?’ 

EDI's voice was laced with faux naivety. Miranda cackled with triumph; she was in on this, too.

‘DO IT! PLACE THE CALL!’ Miranda cried.

‘I’LL UNPLUG THE HELL OUT OF YOU!’ Shepard bellowed.

Their squabble was silenced as a ringing tone echoed through the suite like a death null.

Miranda stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the commander. 

‘Shepard?’ purred Thane’s voice across the intercom.

Shepard's stomach dropped. Miranda could almost see it happening. 

‘Thane!’ she blurted out, her body frozen as though caught in the middle of a crime.

‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ he asked, somewhat composed despite the lateness of the call.

Miranda watched ‘bloody icon’ commander Shepard squirm for words.

_Not good enough._

She reached out and gave Shepard a whack on the leg, mouthing ‘say something’.

‘H-how’s it gone? Ugh. Going?’ Shepard puttered out, running fingers down her face in shame.

Thane laughed softly, ‘Very well, actually.’

He went painfully quiet for a while, then added ‘And, yourself?’

‘Good. Just, you know-’ she stopped, distracted by Miranda's flailing limbs.

‘Tell him you just got out of the shower,’ she whispered. ‘ _Tell him._ ’

Shepard gave her a solid jab in the arm.

‘I was just remembering our talk today,’ Thane said at last, mercifully bidding the conversation forward.

‘Oh yeah?’ Shepard replied, grateful for his manners.

Thane’s voice quickened in short, sharp bursts as he let himself escape into the memory, ‘She blinks twice. Three times. She pauses, her lips parting ever so slightly. I stare at them: I can’t stop myself. She tucks crimson hair behind her ear and tells me her translator didn’t catch it. _Siha._ Next time we talk...I’ll tell her what it means.’  

Miranda’s eyebrows were set sky-high, and she gave Shepard a pout of approval. Shepard wore a wide smile, her cheeks puffed with pride. 

‘When might that "next time" be?’ Shepard asked. 

‘We’re on course for Illium, aren’t we? Shall we stretch our legs and head out for a drink? There’s a rooftop bar in Nos Astra with a truly outstanding view of the city. Meet me there, at sunset. Illium's sunsets are famously beautiful.’

‘So I've heard.’ 

Shepard bit her lip as the image of Thane silhouetted against the setting sun played across her mind; an image from the day that they'd met. 

‘Sounds perfect,’ she added. 

Miranda lifted her glass and silently toasted to the arrangement. Thane bid the commander goodnight, and EDI ended the call with a smug _beep_.

Both women sighed and let the moment linger a few seconds more. 

Shepard shook her head at the pile of tipsy Miranda strewn across her couch.

‘I hope you’re proud of yourself, Lawson.’ 

‘Go get some beauty sleep,’ she laughed, hauling herself up with a groan. ‘We’ve got T-17 and something hours until date night, and we have shopping to do.’

She drained her glass and gave a dismissive nod to the pile of uniforms on Shepard’s floor, ‘Lots of shopping to do.’

Shepard nodded in agreement and set an ungodly alarm on her omni-tool. Miranda made her way clumsily to the door, heels and datapad in tow.

Before making her exit, she turned and shot Shepard a dirty smirk.

‘Remind me to send you the recordings of Thane’s physical exam. It was...thorough.’

Shepard clapped a hand to her mouth, ‘How thorough are we talking?’

Miranda hummed, ‘He’s a spunky bloke, that Thane.’

‘Dismissed, Lawson.’


	2. Glowing Goddesses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Miranda and Shepard are nursing hangovers while they hit the Nos Astra shopping district.

### Fashion District (Nos Astra, Illium)

Miranda walked two piping hot coffees over to the viewing platform where she had left Shepard leaning over the edge, squinting in the morning sun. Her heeled boots clopped across the marble cobbles, and her ponytail swished with the motion.

It was already starting to give her a headache. 

The bright city's skyscrapers sparkled in the early light. The pearlescent view would have been welcome any other day, had they not been nursing a pair of nasty hangovers. 

‘It’s too bright,’ Shepard sighed.

‘This will help,’ Miranda handed her a cup and swigged deeply from her own.

She muttered a curse when she discovered that they had forgotten the cinnamon sprinkles on her cappuccino. They sipped in silence for a good fifteen minutes or so, willing the caffeine to prepare them for their next mission.

Date night. 

Or, more specifically, getting Shepard looking good for date night.

‘Alright,’ Shepard announced, crushing her cup in one hand and flying it to a nearby bin with a biotic push. ‘Let’s do this.’

 

### ‘The Glowing Goddess’ Luxury Spa (Nos Astra, Illium)

Miranda wasn't sure how she'd managed to pull it off, but she'd successfully talked the commander into luxurious facials. 

Had she exploited Shepard’s desire to look nice tonight and used the situation to cater to her own selfish needs?

_Maybe._

But she reasoned with herself that a little pampering was well-deserved. Especially, she thought, after a heavy-duty day of shopping with the pickiest woman in the Milky Way. She had made a lot of apologies to shopping assistants on Shepard’s behalf that day; there were a lot of lovely stores she’d never be able to show her face in again.

The two of them now lay collarbone-deep in individual pools of purple mud. Wispy tendrils of string music wafted through the air. Their faces tingled as though massaged by a thousand tiny fingers beneath their mysterious glowing gel masks. 

‘Remind me how we’re planning to pay for this, again?’ Shepard asked without budging.

‘Well, since you only ever dip into Cerberus funds when fueling up or buying guns, we’ve got a massive untouched budget for team-building activities. Morale-boosting...things.’

‘This is very effective team building,’ Shepard sighed, relaxing and letting her tension seep into the warm purple mud.

‘I can feel my morale boosting more and more with each passing minute,’ Miranda sang with faux sincerity, clicking her fingers and gesturing to the nearby attendee. ‘Be a darling and top up this green juice for me, would you?’

The little asari woman took the glass and shuffled off. A blender started whirring in another room.

Shepard peeled up a portion of her mask and leaned over the side of her tub to face her companion. She tapped her shoulder, leaving a generous patch of purple mud on the exposed skin.

‘Hey, Miranda?’

Miranda lifted her mask, realising with some surprise that the commander had just used her first name.

‘Thank you for this. And for the drinks last night. I just want you to know, all jokes aside, that I owe you one. Whether you need someone to talk to, someone to drink with, or someone’s ass kicked...I’m your woman.’

Shepard extended a sticky purple hand, and Miranda shook it quickly before any more brightly-coloured mud dripped from it and pooled on the floor between them.

‘I just might hold you to that, Shepard.’

They replaced their masks and sank deeper into the mud, enjoying a few minutes of downtime, courtesy of Cerberus.


	3. Gunmetal Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primped to perfection, Shepard makes her way to the rooftop bar in Nos Astra where Thane is waiting for her.
> 
> Shorter chapter, Shepard POV.

  
Shepard sauntered across a glossy marble foyer in search of an elevator. One that would lead her all 343 floors up Illium’s tallest tower to its famed rooftop bar.

The eyes of the reception and security staff tracked her as she walked. Where civilian looks usually lingered on military insignia and weaponry, they now fell upon the elegant silhouette of her new dress.

And what a dress it was. 

Her curves and muscles were draped in a beautiful harmony of tailored black and blue. The dark gown was detailed with geometric seamwork, and featured a seductive slit along her left thigh. It became liquid shadow when she walked, dancing about her ankles with each step.

A sleek curtain of crimson hair swept across her face and finished a perfect inch above her shoulders. Her lips were painted in a soft nude hue, and her eyes were framed in a rich, smokey grey.

Gunmetal grey, they had called it.

She’d smiled at the eyeshadow’s fitting title when they’d applied it to her lids at the salon. Miranda had helped the stylist select the shade, claiming it would be ‘right up Shepard’s alley’.

Miranda hadn’t lingered long enough to witness the finishing touches of Shepard’s glamorous transformation. She’d gathered the generous armfuls of shopping bags they’d accumulated that morning and made her way back to the Normandy. An overdue report awaited her, or so she had claimed. Her drooping shoulders and yawning suggested that perhaps a good night’s sleep awaited her, instead.

The elevator doors hissed open.

Shepard stepped inside and began her slow ascension. Alone, with only her reflection in the mirrored walls for company, she indulged the sight of herself. She smiled with satisfaction at the result of Miranda's successful styling efforts.  

Thane, she hoped, would be in for a treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for stopping by and reading my nonsense, kind humans!
> 
> Stay tuned for date night (and an unexpected cameo) in Chapter 4.


	4. Mr Smith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt 'Space Divas' to bring you 'Parents Who Screwed Up Their Kids and Bonded Over Their Guilt'. 
> 
> Thane POV.

###    
'The Crown of Athame' Rooftop Bar (Nos Astra, Illium) 

Suspended high above the city's bustling districts, the Crown of Athame was a sniper's dream. 

While its skirting streets swam with information and advertisements, the air around The Crown was crisp and clear. Illium's smooth horizons were laid bare in all directions.  From his seat at the bar, Thane could sip expensive liquor and survey his surrounds without training a cautious eye on any looming rooftops or windows.

Rays of setting sunlight washed his features in an amber haze, so rich it could almost be touched and tasted. Around him, patrons hummed with conversation, serenaded by ambient melodies with seductive baselines.

‘Haven’t seen you around here in a while, Mr Smith,’ came a familiar husky voice.

It belonged to an asari matriarch, of all people. She tended this and other Illium bars on the regular. With over 800 years of wisdom and wit bolstering her barside banter, she had become a reliable source of conversation and company over the past two years. 

Aethyta was her name. Her refreshing laissez-faire attitude toward life made her just the sort of friend Thane had needed on lonely, lifeless evenings. During the darker nights, when his conversation wasn’t so witty, she would come out from behind the bar and join him. Working their way through a stiff drink, they would bond over regrets, lost lovers, and mutually screwed-up children.

Once in a while, he had helped her ‘clean up the trash’ when her more violent patrons had grown a little too rowdy. She would always return the favour by 'accidentally' deleting his bar tab.

‘You’d be proud of me, Aethyta,’ Thane smirked. ‘I’ve donated the remainder of my days to a heroic cause. I...crossed over.’

‘Good cause, huh? How good are we talking?’ she chuckled, rubbing two fingers together to suggest coins.

Thane shook his head. Aethyta raised a sceptical brow.

‘I’m doing this gratis. It started as a form of atonement. It sounded, to me, like a good way to go. To my continued amazement, it has blossomed into something...special. Something that changes everything.’

‘Ah,’ Aethyta replied with a knowing smile. ‘This special something got a name?’

‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

‘Bullshit. It takes a lot to surprise me at this age, Smith.’

Thane clicked his tongue at her and took a little too much joy in bringing up an image of Shepard on his omni-tool. Aethyta studied it for a few seconds before her jaw flew open.

‘Ho-ho-holy shit. That’s your new dame?’

Thane couldn’t wipe the triumphant grin off his face if he'd tried.

They paused for a moment, eyes affixed on the orange-hued holo of Shepard. Thane had captured the image of her on his way to his final hit. Hidden in a vent, he had watched her tearing through bodyguards like a scythe to a field of wheat.

The image captured her mid-charge, with her omni-blade alight, and a blazing sheet of biotic energy streaming behind her like comet’s tail.

_My warrior angel._

‘Shepard. I met her a few weeks ago at Eternity. She’s something else, that chick.’

‘Something else entirely,’ Thane replied, closing the image.

‘Yeah. I liked her, she had a good vibe to her.’ Aethyta topped up his drink and doused it with an electric-blue liqueur, ‘I’d say take care of that girl but we both know she’ll be the one taking care of you.’

‘She’s meeting me here tonight. She could be on her way now,’ he tugged at the edge of his collar, then added ‘-try not to embarrass me.’

‘Someone’s gotta keep you humble, ya cocky green bastard.’

Aethyta disappeared below the bar, laughing heartily at her own joke.

She reemerged with a corked bottle. An enchanting work of glassy art.

‘This, my friend, is Champagne. It comes from a fruit that’s only grown in one spot on Earth. Rare as anything this side of Sol. Don't bother trying to pay me for it, because it'll bankrupt you. Oh, and it’ll probably taste like piss to you, but your new girlfriend will flip for it,’ she extended the beautiful bottle to him with a nod. ‘You’re welcome.’

Thane took the bottle as though it were a precious newborn child.

‘I don’t deserve this,’ he said with quiet awe.

‘My gut tells me that this is probably going to be our last chat, Smith. Consider it a parting gift,’ she rested a firm but reassuring hand on his shoulder ‘...from a friend.’

Thane took her hand and clasped it between his own, ‘I’ll keep you in my prayers, Aethyta. Your kindness has meant a great deal to me during my time here. In this life and the next, it won’t be forgotten.’

‘No shit. You’re a drell.’

They laughed off the swollen emotions and found creative ways to avoid making eye contact. 

A patron called for Aethyta at the other end of the bar, and Thane was left alone with the bottle of Champagne to wait for Shepard.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to think Thane spent his mopey Illium years brooding in trendy bars and bitching about his screw-ups with Aethyta. He's such a precious drama queen...I had to assume he gave her the name 'John Smith' when she asked for it on his bar tab. Y'know, for sneaky assassin reasons. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, kind humans!


	5. Edge of The Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sum floof...

Maybe he hadn’t recognised her.

He was looking right at her, but hadn’t acknowledged her in any way. Hadn’t so much as raised a hand to hail her over. He was just sitting there across the far side of the bar, staring straight through her.

Maybe she just needed to wave or something? He’d only ever seen her in uniform, so it made sense he might not be sure.

‘Excuse me, ma’am.’

The unmistakably layered voice of a Turian drew Shepard’s attention from across the bar to her immediate right. It was a bouncer, suited in a silky blue and sporting a glowing yellow headpiece.

‘Something wrong?’ she asked.

‘Right this way, please.’

She let him guide her away from the entrance. He lead her to a quiet corner, away from both patrons and staff with only an eight-foot-tall lava lamp for company. And cover.

He regarded her with narrowed eyes and folded arms.

‘If this is about the firearm strapped to my thigh, I can assure you that I have full clearance to be carrying it here. Or anywhere I go, for that matter.’

She had her licence up on her omni-tool in a matter of seconds. The Turian considered it carefully before his eyes lit up and something of a smile spread across his face.

‘I knew it,’ he exclaimed. ‘I told him it was you, and he didn’t believe me. He said you wouldn’t be caught dead without your armour. I just won myself 200 credits!’

‘Him?’

‘The other bouncer. Dave.’

Heat flooded her face and her hands twitched to slap him. Right across that smug face.

She felt awkward and vulnerable enough as it was showing up for a date who hadn’t even recognised her in a dress. Having snide bets placed on it was the last straw.

‘Wouldn’t be caught dead without my armour,’ she repeated, mostly through her teeth. ‘I don’t need armour to send you and Dave flying off the top of this building. It’s pretty tall. Plenty of time for that credit transfer on the way down.’

‘Woah,’ he stumbled back a step, ‘I swear I didn’t mean any offence! The vids always amp up your tough side, so I guess Dave didn’t expect you to clean up so good. Really good. You look great, ma’am...if you don’t mind my saying so.’

‘Will there be anything else, or can I get back to my evening?’

He cleared his throat and muttered something to the floor.

‘Say again?’

‘Do you think I could maybe trouble you for a photo?’

She raised her eyes to the darkening heavens, ‘Dave needs photographic proof, does he?’

‘No, no. It’s for my kid. She’s a huge fan.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘I swear it’s true. It would mean so much.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Nitana. Six years old and already decided she’s going to be a Specter when she grows up. “Just like Commander Shepard” she says.’

Shepard exhaled one long, low breath through tight lips. She scanned his face for any sign of cruel intent and found only eagerness and pleading. At her nod of consent, the bouncer detached his headpiece and spun the lense to face them. He stood as close as he dared to the commander and the pair sheepishly smiled for the photo.

‘Here, allow me to take it.’

Thane had materialised from the shadows. He was good at that, apparently.

The bouncer handed his headpiece to Thane without hesitation, ‘Thanks!’

Having another person nearby to witness the exchange seemed to instil greater confidence within the Turian. He deigned to drape an arm around Shepard and grinned all the more widely. Thane aimed the lens at different angles, he worked the camera with all the effectiveness of a man who’d framed a fair few figures in a scope.

‘There you go, Arvis. Treasure the memory.’

Thane returned the headpiece. Arvis promptly replaced it over his eye and reviewed the new album. He snorted when he came across the images in which he’d decided to pull stupid faces.

‘These are perfect. She’s going to love them,’ he shook Thane’s hand enthusiastically. ‘Thanks, Smith.’

_Smith?_

‘And thank you, Commander Shepard.’ Arvis now offered his hand to her, ‘I promise these won’t end up on the extranet.’

‘I’ll know where to find you if they do, Arvis.’ She accepted his hand and gave it one strong shake, ‘Say hi to Nitana for me. Tell her I look forward to seeing her become the next Turian Spectre.’

He nodded. Then, sensing the recognition in her eyes as they locked on Thane, he withdrew himself from the quiet corner.

‘So,’ she began, arms planted upon her hips. ‘Smith?’

‘At your service,’ he laughed, tugging at his collar.

‘So, you and Arvis know each other? Any chance those photos will end up splashed across some tacky extranet article? Is this about to become the exclusive scoop on my hot new love affair? Because I need time to mentally prepare for that sort of thing.’

‘He’s harmless,’ Thane assured her. ‘Oh, and Nitana exists.’

‘That’s a relief. I hoped she was real, she sounds adorable.’

‘Indeed, she is. She and her mother have visited him here once or twice on quieter nights. They sip tea and admire the view. And, speaking of…’

A nimble hand slipped about her waist. He adjusted her angle and presented her with a view of the setting sun.

How had she not noticed it?

The cityscape stole her breath. They moved to the balcony and basked in the uninterrupted views of a Nos Astra, bathed in hazy bronze. Only a fraction of the planet's sun remained above the horizon. They stood and absorbed every second of it in silence until the last golden drop disappeared. It left a dreamy twilight in its wake, setting the veins of city traffic alight in streaks of red and yellow.

‘I’m going to enjoy revisiting this,’ Thane whispered, more to himself than to her.

‘Lucky you.’

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, close enough for her to feel his warm breath brushing over her knuckles. 

‘Hello, by the way.’

‘Hello, Thane.’

He kissed the back of her hand and dragged his bottom lip across her skin, ‘I love the dress. It suits you nicely.’

‘Thank you,' she retrieved her hand and returned her attention to the view. 

‘That was quite an entrance you made.’

‘So you _did_ see me? I was waving right at you-’

His dark eyes traced her features.

‘I saw you,’ he admitted.

She raised a brow, gesturing for him to continue.

‘This is the _last_ first date I’ll ever go on,’ he explained, twisting a tendril of her hair between his fingers as he spoke. ‘I’m going to selfishly savour every second of it. Bear with me while I take it all in. Every. Slow. Sweet. _Second_.’

He kissed her temple for emphasis with each lingering word. 

Her voice was breathy as she asked, ‘Is that why you didn’t get up in a hurry?’

‘I was...capturing the moment. For later.’

‘Oh? Care to elaborate?’

‘Shall we get something to drink first? I feel as though the sky needs to get a little darker before I can delve into these less appropriate corners of conversation.’

‘Consider me warned. Tell me what you were thinking when you saw me tonight. Don’t hold back on the details.’

Thane loosened a laugh that rumbled gently across his lips, ‘You know I couldn’t hold back the details. Even if I wanted to.’

She leaned into him and let him softly share his recollections against the nape of her neck. They embraced at the edge of The Crown and savoured each second of privacy. By the time they found their way to the bar, the sky had already darkened enough to ignite Nos Astra’s skyscrapers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, kind humans :)


End file.
